


Let Your Hair Down

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [9]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Mako Mori, Asexual Newton Geiszler, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Fluff, Gen, a lil bit of angst, not much though, the drift is not inherently romantic and i will die on this hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Mako's life of discipline extends from her habits right down to her hair. Perhaps there are small ways she can remember she is not just a warrior, but a human too.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler & Mako Mori, Raleigh Becket & Mako Mori
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Let Your Hair Down

**Author's Note:**

> I love me some Mako Mori, Uprising never happened, and she's the ace icon we all deserve.

Fandom: Pacific Rim

Prompt: “Your bedhead is really cute.”

* * *

Mako Mori’s life is discipline.

It is running sims until she cannot think of anything aside from the mission, turning the Jaeger at precisely the right angle to deliver the blow. It is striding through the halls after Marshall Pentecost, making sure the preparations for the Shatterdome are running smoothly. It is the life of a warrior and she would not have it any other way.

This discipline means she cannot afford many luxuries with her own personal appearance. Though she holds no ill will towards it, she does not fit fashion into her priorities, preferring the faded fatigues with durable, flexible materials. She does not spend time on the games that Newt prefers, instead choosing to sit by his side running specs while he banters with the other players. She talks with Dr. Gottlieb about his research, both standing at the blackboards, running numbers.

She keeps her hair cut short, orderly, easily pushed aside and manageable. It is simple, it is proper.

She allows herself a few little splashes, knowing that if she submerged any more fully into the world of the PPDC she would not emerge.

The first splash is not much. Marshall prefers to not have any non-essentials on board the Shatterdome, both for efficiency’s sake and for safety. So there are no cosmetic professionals, no hairdressers to help maintain her haircut. One of the reasons she selected it so long ago was the fact that it did not require much expertise. Marshall himself sat her down on the floor between his legs and carefully snipped around her head with a pair of scissors. Now that she is more capable, she does the same, snipping slowly and precisely until her head is even. She stands in front of the dingy mirror with a pair of scissors and begins to snip.

The hair is not much longer than the end of her chin, but long enough to get in the way during training. She starts on the left side of her head, going around until she reaches the nape of her neck. She shakes once to dislodge any loose hairs.

A big chunk right next to her cheek falls from the top of her head, missed by the scissors.

Mako tilts her head to the side.

The lock of hair falls along her jawline, not large enough to be cumbersome, but significant enough to add another dimension to her hair. It frames her face. She looks older somehow, more mature.

She likes it.

After she has swept up all the loose ends and put away the scissors, she looks back in the mirror. Two little strands hang down on either side of her jaw. In the mirror, if she does not look too hard at them, they almost look like the sides of a pilot’s helmet.

Marshall does not correct her error, so she keeps it.

The next splash is thanks to Newt. The two of them have a strange sibling-like dynamic, what with being two _children_ in the midst of the planet’s only defense against aliens. Newt is a scientist whose research borders on mythological studies of the past, and Mako is a warrior whose battles cannot be fought alone. They are somewhat isolated by the only people who could hope to understand who they are. So they take comfort in each other.

Mako understands Newt is desperate for people to understand him, understand why he is the way he is. He needs to prove his worth, that he is useful, but this will come at the sacrifice of himself if that is what it takes. Mako understands that. Newt understands that Mako has the Marshall but that is it. The Marshall has the PPDC and that is _his_ driving force. She has no one outside of the PPDC. Newt understands that.

It is Newt that Mako goes to when something human goes wrong. Newt understands people in ways she cannot. So when she tries to engage in a sexual relationship and she does not respond the way her partner wishes, she flees to the sanctuary of Newt’s lab, desperate for some explanation. Newt knows what is wrong, in that nothing is wrong. They discuss asexuality and add another similarity between them to the list. Then Newt suggests something.

“Hey, come look at this,” he calls from his workstation. “It’s the ace pride flag.”

“I like the colors.” Purple, white, gray, and black. They go together well.

“Yeah, me too. Well, I was thinking that maybe we could get you something that has it on there,” Newt says, tapping on the desk, “you know, just so you can remember that it’s okay and you’re so fucking valid.”

“I would like that, but…”

“But? But what, Mako?”

“I do not think I will be able to keep it with me always. I have to be able to perform my duties as normal.”

“What? Not even like a little pin?”

Mako shakes her head. “It would have to come off for training.”

Newt thinks a moment. He snaps his fingers. “I got it! What if we dye the ends of your hair?”

“Excuse me?”

Newt fingers the longer ends by her face. “Just the tips, right here. It’d be subtle enough that it’s just a splash of color, but then it doesn’t add anything else to your overall appearance and you’ve got something to remind you and give you some strength.”

She likes it.

Thanks to his profession, Newt is an expert at handling hazardous chemicals. He applies the bleach and then the dye meticulously to the end of her hair, rinsing it thoroughly and drying her hair with a faded T-shirt from his bed. He steps back to look over his handiwork and grins.

“There. Whattya think?”

Mako looks in the mirror and cannot help smiling. She is Mako Mori, she is asexual, and she is proud. She keeps up the dyeing treatment with Newt every time she cuts her hair.

The third splash comes after the rift is closed.

There is nothing for them to do now, no wars for them to fight, no Kaiju for them to slay. The PPDC breathes, relaxing its tense shoulders. The pilots rest, the Jaegers sleep. The Drift is strong even outside of the conn pod.

One of the first things pilots are taught is Drift hangover, not wanting to be separated from one’s pilot for a while afterward, the residual energy linking them growing over time, eventually forming a Ghost Drift. Her Ghost Drift with Raleigh is almost powerful enough to count as a proper Drift; they can share thoughts, messages, know the location of the other without pinging their comm. As such, they cannot be separated after a drop for a significant amount of time.

She curls herself around Raleigh in bed, soaking up the feel of his body next to hers, the Ghost Drift ringing softly in their heads. It is sated when they are closer, feelings dulling to pleasant whines in the back of their heads. If this were still the days of the war, they would roll out of bed, strap on their boots, and go to work, heads held high, strides matched, to look death in the face. But the war is over now.

Raleigh shifts, bringing a hand up to grip Mako’s arm, pulling her closer. He looks up at her face and grins lazily, fond, yet drowsy, expression on his features.

“What?”

“Nuthin’,” he mumbles, “your bedhead is really cute.”

Raleigh, when he is tired, is a big, floppy puppy, all soft pats and quiet affection. His clumsy pawing at her hair before his eyes drift closed again is enough to remind her of this.

In the days past, when discipline governed Mako’s life entirely, she would brush her hair flat and make sure not a hair was out of place.

Now, curled up next to her copilot, she pauses.

She hears Marshall’s voice in her memory, something she has tried to avoid for a little while now. It is warm, though, not the icy depths of the Pacific Ocean.

_“Go to sleep, Ms. Mori,” he murmurs in her ear when she cannot stay awake, “and relax. You can take the weight of the world off your shoulders for a little. You don’t have to be a warrior right now, you can be Mako._ ”

Mako can keep her bed head for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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